All the Stories Were True
by booknerdhere
Summary: The brawl didn't go as planned. Crutchie's stuck in the Refuge, and Jack blames himself. Crutchie, however, is doing his best to stay positive... and he knows he won't be able to rest until the Refuge is shut down once and for all. Rated T for some violence.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey all! This is my first Newsies fanfic. I will try to keep writing and uploading the chapters. This revolves around Crutchie being in the Refuge after the big brawl, but it switches between Crutchie's POV and Jack's POV. Pretty much all of my Newsies fanfics will be based off of the Broadway version... even though I haven't seen it yet... *cries***

 **There is some violence, since this first chapter is about the brawl. I'm not sure what to rate it, but I guess I'll rate it T just in case. There won't be anything inappropriate, and there won't be any cursing, as I don't believe in either of those things.**

 **Anyways, please R &R and enjoy!**

 **DISCLAIMER: I do not own Newsies!**

 **God bless,**

 **Elizabeth Shoal**

 **(No, that is not my real name, but I am not comfortable revealing my real name online for obvious safety reasons. So please call me Elizabeth or Lizzie!)**

* * *

 **Crutchie's POV**

"Hey, Jack, look what I made! Watch- _Strike!_ "

I help up my crutch, waving it high in the air. I'd painted a banner with a piece of cloth and some of Jack's art supplies. It was simple - all it said was "STRIKE" - but it was a way for me to show that I was part of the union too. Even if I was disabled.

I thought a saw a glimmer of something strange in Jack's hazel-green eyes. I couldn't place it exactly… but was that…

 _Pity?_

Jack opened his mouth, but before he could respond, Race - throwing me a grin, his cigar hanging from his teeth - spoke up.

"That's great!" He exclaimed. His tone did not match his smile. It was laced with false enthusiasm. He gave a halting, sarcastic laugh. "Heh-heh. Heh. Heh." His smile fell, and mine did too. "That's pitiful." Race looked like he was beginning to have doubts again. Jack was glaring at the back of his blonde head.

 _Is it that bad? I thought it was pretty clever…_

Les strayed from his brother's side, pape in hand. He stood before Race, legs spread in an accusing, I'm-just-as-big-as-you sort of way. "Don't be so quick to judge!" The nearly-ten-year-old said indignantly. "Maybe Pulitzer will see it from his window and feel sorry for us.

A few guys chuckled, but my spirits soared once more as Les turned toward me with an encouraging beam. The kid didn't know how much his support meant to me.

Les spread his pape on the ground, and motioned for me to come closer. As he placed a foot on one half, I placed my foot (the good one of course) on the other.

"See this Mr. Pulitzer!?" I shouted defiantly, jabbing my finger at the pape and aiming my words at the large brick building above me - the _World_ 's headquarters. Pulitzer was gonna see that we weren't nothin' after all.

With a tug, Les and I pulled the paper apart. It made an oddly satisfying sound as it ripped; I could almost hear it yelling 'Strike!' right along with my banner. Les and I glided through the crowd on our halves of the pape. The whole lot of us burst back into a final chorus of Davey's tune.

"Now is the time to seize the day!"

The hope, practically palpable in the sun-heated air, made my limbs tingle with excitement.

"One for all and all… for one!" We all shouted those words: at the brick building; at the _World_ ; at the _actual_ world; at Pulitzer; at each other. We were gonna fight together, and we were letting Pulitzer know what was coming.

As if on cue, hoofbeats sounded from down the street. We turned to see a horde of angry coppers, three or four of whom sat atop proud, chestnut-colored horses.

"It's the Bulls!" Les exclaimed.

"And the Delancey brothers!" I put in because, sure enough, there they were at the front of the crowd, tapping their homemade billy clubs threateningly against their palms.

" _Hey!_ " Jack climbed onto the steps of the _World_ and shouted over the muttering newsies. "Come on boys, we ain't givin' up now, are we? It's like Davey said: seize the day! Strike!"

" _ **Strike!**_ " The whole lot of us chorused. A few boys charged and the square echoed with a menagerie of shouts and curses. The Bull interspersed with the newsies, and the result was one disoriented, tussling mass. I raised my crutch just slightly, tripping the nearest Bull before he could get to Les. Les dodged yet another Bull and dove head first into a barrel.

Mush and Sniper, the twins, were back to back, throwing punches this and that. Race was holding his own against three men, all much taller than he. A Bull came at me, fist raised, but I ducked. Popping back up, I used my good leg to kick him in a not-so-comfortable spot, which sent him, howling, to the ground.

Another glance around showed Romeo, Davey, Boots and Finch shoving a mob of Bulls back. I managed a glimpse of Jack, who was locked arm to arm with a buff, black-shirted strikebreaker.

I brought my crutch down on the shoulders of a blonde man who had gotten ahold of Specs. He let out a string of unpleasant words and turned towards me. The Bull grabbed my crutch and soon enough we were playing tug-o'-war. Another nasty strikebreaker got a punch to the side of my head from behind, and one to my ribs as well, but Specs shoved him away, hitting him over the head with a cane. Where he got it? I had no idea.

I kicked the other copper - who was still pulling at my crutch (and gaining ground, mind you) in the shins. He faltered, giving me time to pull my crutch away and kick him again. I raised my crutch threateningly. The lousy Bull turned tail and fled.

"Nice one Crutchie!" This came from Albert, who was sporting a busted lip and yet grinning from ear-to-ear.

"Thanks Al!"

Together we converged on a Bull before he could drag Race away. Race muttered a begrudging 'thanks' before disappearing into the throng. I tried to see over the crowd, standing on tip-toe, but to no avail.

 _Stupid short legs…_ I was fairly certain that the polio I'd caught as a child had not only crippled my leg, but stunted my growth as well.

I shuffled onto a step, and then another, and saw Oscar and Morris Delancey making their way towards Jack, who was just pushing off a Bull. Jack turned and saw the Delanceys too.

" _JACK KELLY!"_ I recognized that voice. Behind Jack, Snyder sat on one of the big-boned horses. Jack spun in a circle. He must've been thinking the same thing I was: _Cornered._

Suddenly, though, he made a move, diving forward… and scrambling through the space between the horse's two sets of legs. Just like that, he was off, pushing through the fray.

" _JACK KELLY!"_ I'd never seen Snyder so angry in my life. I found myself cheering, waving my banner triumphantly at the clear, blue sky. My happiness, however, was short lived because the coppers on the horses had dismounted and were now joining the tussle. There was only a few of them, but it was amazing the difference they made. I stepped down to help JoJo out, but a Bull managed to wing me right in the eye. I knew I'd be getting a nasty bruise. I hit the man with my crutch, and was, admittedly, grateful when JoJo took over.

Around me, the cries of the newsies escalated. Pain, frustration and panic radiated in the air. Every one of us was bloody and sweating. The Bulls were winning.

I roused myself from my stupor, and smacked the nearest copper over the head. I raised my crutch to do the same to another strikebreaker but, all at once, the crowd lurched. It lurched again, and started to move, carrying me along with it. It took me a moment to realize what was happening: The Newsies were fleeing. We were defeated. The plaid-shirted, capped boys were running, and the Bulls were giving chase.

I was at the back of the group, being jostled about and trying not to lose my footing. I didn't want to stop. I wanted to stay and keep trying. I wanted to win. There were a few boys throwing a few final punches… but overall the effort was done for.

Maybe I'm stubborn, but I was smart enough to know that I couldn't hold my own against a bunch of Bulls.

The other newsies quickly got ahead of me… as did the strikebreakers. I still tried to follow, but I was suddenly cut off by two looming figured.

The Delancey brothers.

"H-Hey fellas…" I stuttered. "Oscar… Morris…" I _really_ wasn't doing very well with the whole 'brave-act' thing. It was as if all the courage had drained out of me. I think it was because I knew I was alone. The newsies and Bulls were out of sight. All the civilians had cleared the street.

It was just me and the Delanceys.

"Where's your Jack now?" Oscar, the slightly taller of the two brothers, sneered. He bent so he was eye level with me.

I curled my lip and punched him in the nose.

Obviously surprised, Oscar stood up straighter and stumbled back. His hand - which I'm telling you was the size of a dinner plate - flew to his heavily-bleeding nose.

My knuckles smarted, but I kept as straight a face as I could muster. Morris, however looked furious; furious that I had dared to do such a thing. But there was also a hint of amusement in his eyes at his brother's plight. Morris retaliated by throwing a punch that hit me square in the jaw.

Pain flared throughout my cheek, and - I'm telling you - my teeth rattled. I staggered to the side, and Morris snatched away my crutch. With one hard shove he sent me to the cobblestone street. I put my hands up to catch myself, earning myself a pair of gravel-studded palms and jolted wrists.

Oscar, regaining his senses, he forward, a scowl plastered on his face. He kicked me in the ribs… _hard_. I automatically curled into a ball, groaning as my innards lurched. Oscar kicked me again. And again.

I couldn't refrain from calling out.

"Jack!"

I was panicking. If no one came, I was done for. And my first instinct was to call for Jack. Jack always seemed to know when I was getting beat up. He'd saved my sorry butt too many times to count.

Oscar kicked me again, causing me to throw my arms up in defense. Morris' foot found my hand and pushed down, crushing it to the cobblestones. A scream tore from my throat. I could feel my fingers being ground into the rough, unforgiving stone. I could hear them cracking.

"Jack, _help_!"

"Shut up you stupid crip!" Morris growled. But he removed his foot from my bloodied hand. And Oscar didn't kick me again. I risked a tentative glance upward - _Why've they stopped?_ \- and saw another figure, silhouetted against the glaring sun.

Apparently Snyder had stayed behind too. Seeing him up close allowed me to survey him. The middle aged, greying man was dressed in a suit and a bowler hat - not exactly the standard attire for a brawl. He wasn't particularly tall, and his stomach had grown to be rather round from years of eating well, but he was still just as threatening as the Delanceys, if not more so. He always stood up straight and tall, and his gaze was cold and calculating. A cruel smile - if it could even be called that - stretched his pale features. His steel-grey eyes seemed to say for him: _'Well, look what we have here.'_

Without a word, he took my crutch from Morris' hands. For one shocking moment, I thought he was going to give it back to me.

I was wrong.

Apparently he just didn't think his cronies were doing their job well enough, because the crutch rose above his head before sailing towards me. For a moment, the world slowed down enough for me to see the irony of it all: I was about to get beat up with my own crutch. I was about to be soaked with the thing that was supposed to _help_ me walk. Of course, a moment later, irony was the last thing I cared about. My crutch hit me in the upper arm. It stung with a fiery heat. It hurt more than anything I'd ever felt.

Then again I was getting soaked with a thin rod of solid wood.

The crutch came flying again and made contact with my exposed side. I yelped, curling up once more, clutching my stomach. I quickly moved my arms above my head, however, after Snyder brought the wood down across my temple. The world spun. Three pairs of legs became six pairs. The sun zipped around in a twirling sky.

The blow elicited a scream. This situation was much worse than I had originally thought it to be.

" _Jack!_ " I cried, but I was quickly cut off by the raining blows. Down the crutch fell, delivering one clout after another.

And suddenly Snyder stopped.

A sob escaped my dry lips; a sob of both agony and relief. My tough-and-stubborn attitude was gone. It had disappeared more and more with every blow and every cruel word. My pride was being worn down as well.

Snyder bent over me, grabbing my wrists away from my head.

"It's off to the Refuge with you, little man." He practically whispered in his cold, unsettling tone. No matter how soft he spoke, Snyder could always be heard over every other voice in a room.

 _The Refuge? No, no, please no..._

Snyder secured wintry, metal cuffs tightly (too tightly I might add) around my thin wrists.

"Take him away." He addressed the Delancey brothers as he stood.

 _Not the Refuge, please. Please don't take me there._ I'd only ever heard horrible things about that place. I'd seen the scars - both physical and mental - that Jack had sustained from that terrible institution. The place that was supposed to 'reform young men into better citizens'.

" _JACK!_ " I tried again, even though (thinking about it now) I would have blamed myself if Jack had gotten arrested while trying to save me. Oscar grabbed me by my bad ankle, spinning me about. At this point, I didn't really expect a reply. I figured Jack must've been long gone by now…

" _ **CRUTCHIE!**_ " The cry split the still, muggy air. I rolled onto my stomach, trying to see the source of that familiar voice as Oscar began to drag me over the uneven cobblestones. Every inch of my beaten body protested, but I needed to see Jack.

I caught a glimpse of him, far down the road, half-hidden in an alleyway. Snyder was looking too.

My head banged against the ground. By now, I was desperate.

" _ **JACK, HELP!**_ " The shriek was a final plea for help. I was begging. And yet I knew that it was hopeless. Jack couldn't help me, I was too far away. He'd get caught.

 _"_ Jack…" I sobbed.

If there was a reply, I was too far away to hear it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Here's the next chapter guys! I got some pretty good feedback on the first chapter, and I love newsies, so hopefully the chapters will keep coming! I already have written a good portion of a third chapter, I just need to type it up. Yes, I do hand-write a lot of my fanfics.**

 **This one is from Jack's POV. It's not as long as the last one, but hopefully it's still decent quality... Turns out Jack is somewhat hard to write! I think part of it is trying to write his conflicting emotions; trying to write the worry and anger and panic all at once.**

 **DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN NEWSIES!**

 **Please R &R, and enjoy!**

 **God bless!**

* * *

 **JACK'S POV**

" _JACK KELLY!"_

I turned away from the threatening Delanceys to see one of my worst nightmares perched above me; and on a horse of all things. I was cornered: Delanceys on one side, Snyder on the other, tussling Newsies and Bulls everywhere else.

I may not be smart, but I sure know how to come up with crazy escape plans, and in very little time to boot. I saw my opening and I took it.

Of course, my opening was through the horse's legs. Hoping the animal wouldn't kick my brains out, I dove through the small space, scrambled to my feet, and leapt forward. I shoved through the massive brawl, trying to 'disappear' like I'd always been so good at.

" _JACK KELLY!_ "

Disappearing is sort of hard to do when your pursuer is seated above everything else. Snyder's cold, grey gaze burned into the back of my neck. I didn't turn around. I didn't want to see him.

From the corner of my eye I saw the other Bulls dismount their own steeds. They began to rail on my friends, and I stopped to throw a few punches. No one treated my friends like that. I just couldn't stand it. It made my blood boil.

The whole time I was thinking: _At least Snyder ain't crazy enough to stampede everyone just ta reach me._

But his boys _were_ throwing Newsies and Bulls alike; tossing them aside like beanbags, trying desperately to get their hands on the real prize: me.

I was _not_ going back to the Refuge.

I dodged a few more Bulls, finally reaching the edge of the mass. A few newsies nearby

detached themselves from the brawl and ran like there was no tomorrow. The Bulls' numbers were just too great.

I glanced back as the newsies surged forward. Oscar and Morris were still following best they could. And in that moment I panicked; in that moment I did something I'm not proud of: I ran.

We were being beaten, yes, but I should have stayed until the end. I wasn't running because I was afraid of getting soaked. I ran because I was afraid of Snyder. Of the Refuge. I left my brothers behind because I was worried about my own well-being. And yet they called me their leader.

Doubts ran through my head nearly as fast as I my feet hit the ground. At the end of the road, I ducked into an alley, allowing myself a minute's rest before glancing around the corner. Already the brawlers had dispersed, going every which way, chasing one another all over the place. In the chaos, the Delanceys heads towered over all the others.

 _Probably still looking for me._

I scanned the alley and spotted a rickety old fire escape. The metal was crusted over with red-brown rust, and as I pulled on it it rattled something ferocious. So, naturally, I started climbing. It was dangerous, and it didn't lead to _my_ rooftop, but I didn't have time to worry about things like that.

Clambering onto the roof, I saw that there was very little space between buildings. I could easily clear many of those gaps. For the time being, however, I hunkered down against the edge of the roof, practically lying on my back so no one would see me. I needed to clear my head; make a plan.

 _Too bad Davey ain't here. He's the brains, not me. He'd know what to do now._

But I could bet Davey hadn't left the others behind like I had.

 _Wonder where he is… I hope he's alright._

I hadn't seen Davey - or Les for that matter - since the beginning of the brawl. I worried about them… They weren't real street-kids. They hadn't learned how to hold their own. They didn't know what it meant to _really_ fight. Or to be so hungry you'd eat banana peels from the trash bins. Or so thirsty you'd drink toilet water. Or so cold you'd sneak into some rich person's house just for a bit of warmth. They didn't know what desperate was.

 _Them darn Bulls… There were just too many of 'em. Race looked 'bout ready to pass out. And Race don't give up easy. And Boots… He_ _ **must**_ _have broken something. They soaked us real good._ _ **Too**_ _good. This was a terrible idea. Them kids only did it 'cuz they was followin' me. They got hurt 'cuz I let 'em. I told 'em it was a good idea. They was practically followin' orders. Like some army. Why did I ever think this was a good idea? And then I just ran. I ran, and I left 'em, when some of them was still fightin'. And I even let Les fight. The kid's not even ten. Oh geez, what have I done. I couldn't be a worse-_

I thought I heard my name being called. I held my breath, listening hard. Had the Delanceys figured out where I was?

 _Maybe I'm just imaginin' things… Maybe I'm losin it…_

" _Jack, help!_ " There it was again! It was distant, but someone _was_ calling my name, and they were calling for help. Another voice, deeper and louder, followed the first. The only thing I could understand was 'crip'.

 _Crip?_

It hit me that I knew that first voice; the one calling for help.

 _ **Crutchie.**_

I should've recognized it the first time. Any good Captain would recognize the voice of his fellow striker. Of his fellow newsie. Of his _best friend._ Except for me, apparently.

Once I _did_ recognize his voice, I tell you, my heart jumped halfway into my throat. In moments I was shimmying down the fire escape. I skipped the last level of rungs, knocking over a trashcan in the process, and hissed as my ankles jolted against the trash-cluttered ground.

"Jack!"

It was definitely Crutchie. To be honest, though, I was terrified on looking around that corner.

 _Are the Delanceys still there? Why's Crutchie calling me? What's happening?_ I took a breath a poked my head out once more, peering towards the square. Sure enough, there were those brutes - the Delanceys - standing with their arms crossed, glaring down at something on the ground. snyder was there too, unmistakable in his coal-black bowler hat. he was raising something in the air, - _Wood?_ _A cane? A stick? One of the Delancey's billy clubs?_ \- bringing it down on the ground.

 _No, wait… Not on the ground…_

On _**Crutchie**_.

Crutchie was curled up in a tiny ball, a fetal position practically, cowering before that evil, evil man. My breath hitched; I choked on air.

 _I'm gonna be sick._

My brain told me to move, to do something, but my body was frozen. Every limb had locked. Snyder was beating Crutchie like he was a dusty carpet. The undersized fifteen year old jerked with every stroke, and I was sure I heard him cry out in pain.

Snyder suddenly stopped. He bent over Crutchie.

 _Get away! Get away from him you rotten, no-good, evil, stupid, lyin',-_

A few moments later he stood and gestured at the brothers, who were waiting like eager puppies; waiting for a pat on the head and a treat. Oscar grabbed Crutchie by his bag leg, causing me to visibly cringe.

 _I gotta do somethin', I gotta move, I gotta help 'im._

 _But the Delanceys! The Delanceys will get you first, and Snyder… And then you'll go to the Refuge…_

 _But I can't leave Crutchie, I just can't! The poor kid won't last in that place, I 'ave ta help 'im._

Crutchie rolled onto his stomach.

" _JACK!_ " His voice seeped pain and panic and… betrayal. Disappointment. I could hear it there, behind the fear. The overwhelming, unsettling, heart-breaking fear.

I couldn't _not_ respond. Not to that innocent kid, who looked up to me so much more than he should have.

" _ **CRUTCHIE!**_ " My voice was dry, hoarse. It sounded foreign to my ears. It sounded far away, like the humid air had sucked it up into the dainty, white clouds. Snyder whipped around, his eyes fixing on me, but Oscar kept pulling. Morris faltered between the two, anticipating Snyder's orders. I found myself moving further out of the alley. Even across the distance I caught Crutchie's gaze; even from here I could see the plea in those eyes; written all over that round, freckled face.

" _ **JACK, HELP!"**_ His voice cracked on the words. Oscar kicked him, and a sob followed. That sound broke me. It crushed my heart into a million peices. I wanted to scream and rant and go berserk, but my fear continued to hold me back. My fear held me back, even despite the cry of my very best friend; of my brother. Even to this day I have hard time forgiving myself for just standing there. Standing there and breaking the dreams of the kid who had trusted me so much, and for so long.

"I'll come for you Crutchie!" I called, though he seemed to be miles away already. "I'll get ya outta there! Don't give up!" I didn't know what to say. I didn't even know if Crutchie could hear me. I felt I had to say something, though. I was trying to cover up the mistake I already knew I'd made.

"I'll find ya, Crutchie." I whispered as Oscar dragged my best friend around the bend. Jus'... Jus' remember Santa Fe. Don't forget."

Snyder shouted something intelligible.

Morris came for me.

I ran.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello all! I hope you all enjoyed the last chapter! I present to you... CHAPTER THREE! It is a little different from the others, since there's a lot more talking. But I tried to find other things to talk about; other details to put in so that it wasn't dialogue the whole time... I hope you guys enjoy it! Next chapter is... SANTA FE! And the chapter after that... A SANTA FE DUET! SORT OF! I'll figure it out haha.**

 **A big shout out to Percyjacksonfangirl11 for allowing me to borrow her interrogation idea! Thank you SO MUCH! Go read her fanfiction "When in the Refuge" guys. I didn't read the whole thing (I'm awful when it comes to actually reading an entire fanfiction), but from what I did read it is fantabulous!**

 **BTW if anyone is interested I have a Pinterest... I've upload some art and Newsies headcanons and pin a bunch of randomness haha**

 **elizabethshoal/**

 **IF YOU ARE A NEWSIES FAN (WHICH I ASSUME YOU ALL ARE) GO CHECK OUT ABIGAIL CONNOR'S PINTEREST ACCOUNT SHE HAS AMAZING NEWSIES FANART! THE BOARD THAT HOLDS HER NEWSIES FANART IS CALLED "MY ART".**

 **monzy1999/**

 **THANK YOU ABIGAIL FOR HELPING HELPING ME TO MAKE DECISIONS WHEN I'M INDECISIVE. I feel sorry for this poor girl because I rant to her about Newsies... A lot... And I ask her a lot of questions because she's an unbiased reader. I can ask my friends and family but technically they would be considered biased haha. No offense to you all, but it's true. I'm biased towards you all too because I love you. Although Alyssa Moran gets the brunt of my ranting... SORRY LYSSA. GO FOLLOW HER TOO! SHE'S ONE OF MY BEST FRIENDS IN REAL LIFE. AND I GIVE HER GRIEF I AM SURE. BUT SHE'S MY HONORARY JACK AND I AM HER HONORARY CRUTCHIE. SO YEAH. THANK YOU ALYSSA FOR LISTENING TO MY NEVER ENDING RANTS AND FOR READING MY FANFICTION AND EDITING IT. AND THANK YOU FOR HELPING ME WITH NAMES. YOU AND ABIGAIL. WE SHALL FIND A NAME FOR CRUTCHIE TOGETHER!**

 **henryhedgehogpd/**

 **Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN NEWSIES OR DISNEY OR ANY OF THE CHARACTERS. I do own the characters I have created for the purpose of this story. But if you'd like to use them, just shoot me a message and we can arrange something!**

 **God bless,**

 **Elizabeth Shoal**

 **(As I have stated this is my internet name, not my real name! But feel free to call me Lizzie or Liz or anything like that!)**

* * *

I don't know how long Oscar dragged me before he finally hefted me up and slung me over his broad shoulder. All I know is that I was only half-conscious at that point in time… Still conscious enough to be aware that my head was aching horribly from hitting every bump in the road and still conscious enough to be relieved that I was no longer being dragged.

Somewhere along the way to the Refuge - somewhere in one of those many back alleys that we newsies know all too well - I completely lost all consciousness, because the next thing I knew I woke up with my nose in a ragged, old pillow that was spilling feathers onto the floor.

My first thought was: "I'm hungry." My second thought, once I realized "Hey, wait a second, I don't own a proper bed" was: "Where am I?"

I went to prop myself up on my elbow and instantly regretted it. Hot, stabbing spasms of pain shot through my torso and every limb. It was so sudden and agonizing I couldn't even yell; I simply choked on the would-be scream and slumped back down onto the bed. My breathing was heavy, and I had to blink tears away. In all my seven years of living on the street, I'd never gotten soaked so badly. I wasn't accustomed to this level of pain.

"Hey."

I started. I had been under the impression that I was the only one in the room. As I shifted my head, three figures came into view. Through the haze of pain, I saw there were two taller boys and one shorter one, all staring down at me with what I felt to be very concentrated gazes.

"What's your name?" the tallest boy asked. He had a wild mess of red hair, looked to be about eighteen, and was - judging by his accent - obviously not originally from New York.

My lips, dry and cracked, struggled to form an answer.

"Crutchie," I practically whispered. "They call me Crutchie."

"Who's dey?" the shortest boy asked. He had to be related to the first one, because his hair was the same carrot-red.

"The newsies."

"Ohhh." Tall redhead nodded as things apparently started to make sense to him. "You're a newsie. That's why dey brought you here, cuz you're part of da newsboy's strike." He sat on the end of the bed. "Well, Crutchie, I'm Sean. Dis here-" he placed a hand on the other redhead's shoulder. "-Is my brother, Connor. And that-" He pointed at the other boy. who was probably about my age (fifteen or so) and had skin the colour of milk chocolate."-Is Scruffy."

"My real name's Jonathan." the boy with the dark skin interluded. "But everyone calls me Scruff… _not_ Scruffy." He looked pointedly at Sean, who smiled a bit before looking back at me.

"The Delanceys do dis to ya?" Sean inquired, just gesturing at me in general. I knew what he meant, and I nodded.

"Yeah, they sure did. Them and Snyder." A mental image of Snyder - that horrible, no-good, cheat of a man - arose and I shook my head to push it away.

Connor's eyes widened. "Snyder!? He almost _never_ get's 'is hands dirty. What'd you do?"

I sighed heavily, pondering this question. What _had_ I done?

"I ain't got a clue." I tried again to prop myself up, but once more a feeling like flames rushed through my very blood. I groaned, burying my face in the unwashed pillow. It smelled like wet dirt and sweat.

"Hey fella…" Sean said, in a way that reminded me painfully of Jack. Where was Jack now? Had he gotten away? Was he alright? _Please, Lord, please don't let him be here in the Refuge._ "You be careful. I don't think moving's a good idea jus' yet. 'Specially not if the Delanceys and Snyder got to ya. Speakin' of which, how do ya feel?"

"Like I'se been run over by a steam engine."

Sean grimaced. "Yeah, I'm sure. They're quere rough, them Delanceys."

"Aw, Sean stop babyin' 'im." Another unfamiliar voice spoke from above. Only then did I realize I was lying on the bottom bunk of a solidly built bunk bed.

Someone jumped down, landing with a thud. It was a stocky, blonde boy with a cold, uncaring expression. "He's gonna hafta learn real fast how ta suck it up if 'es gonna survive here." The guy, who had a distinct Brooklyn accent, sized me up… Well, as best he could from my comatose position. "Course, by the looks of 'im, 'e won't make it more 'n a day."

I opened my mouth, ready to spit out a fiery retort, but Sean spoke before I could make a peep. "Can it Buzz. No one asked for your opinion."

Buzz looked from me, to Sean, to me and back to Sean. His lip curled.

"Whatever." And with that he retreated into the corner of the room. All of this sudden movement gave me an opportunity to survey the room. It was dull, drab, and positively filthy. The walls, which I assumed had formerly been white, were so stained with dust and dirt they looked grey. The wood-paneled floors - ever board rough and unsanded - were scattered with dirt and what looked suspiciously like the droppings of a small rodent. There were four sets of wooden bunk beds (also unsanded) in the not-so-large room. Most of them were currently unoccupied, but clearly well-used. I wondered where their inhabitants were.

"Ignore him." Sean whispered, rolling his eyes as Buzz stalked away. "He's an expert at acting the maggot."

"Acting the…?" I shook my head. _What does that even mean?_

"Oh, 'scuse me." Sean turned faintly red. "It means to… how do you New Yorker put it… be a jerk."

Connor grinned. "Yeah, we're from Ireland."

 _Ohhh. That explains the accent. And the weird choice of words._

Connor, who reminded me so much of Les ( _Where's Les now? Is he all right?)_ with his round face and bright eyes (though he must've been a few years older than Les) continued on. "Are you winning?" He questioned hopefully. "The strike, I mean. Are you winning the strike?"

I hesitated. That was a good question. Were we winning? We'd be beaten pretty bad, no pun intended. Last I saw, the Bulls had been chasing the whole lot of newsies down the street. And some of the boys had been hurt pretty bad…

"Well… we ain't exactly winnin'..." Connor's face fell. "But we ain't losin' either."

Scruff nodded. "I bet the strikebreakers are a real problem." _That's an understatement._ "I heard the Delanceys talkin' about 'em. Said they're somethin' fierce… though they was sayin' those newsies of yours-" Scruff didn't get to finish his sentence, because the door flew open with a resounding _BANG!_

'Well, speaking of the Delanceys…" Sean grumbled under his breath, though he stood up along with Scruff, Connor and Buzz.

 _Thank goodness the Delancey brothers didn't hear dat._

The boys stood in military-like positions, with their heads up, their eyes fixed straight ahead their backs straight and their arms still at their sides. The infamous Delanceys strolled through the doorway, and Snyder drifted in right behind. His eyes roved the room as he entered, and they landed on me. I internally flinched under that piercing gaze, but externally repaid it with a glare that Scruff later told me rivaled Spot Conlon's.

"Have you met our new resident, Sean?" Snyder addressed the redhead in a falsely sweet tone.

Sean nodded. "Crutchie? Yes, sir, I've met him. We all have."

Snyder took a few quick steps forward until he and Sean were nose-to-nose.

"Well, learn a lesson from him, boy. His kind are the biggest underage threat to our society." Snyder glared down at me "They go about starting strikes, defying authority and _infecting_ the streets with their radical ideas. They. Are. A. _Disease_.

Sean opened his mouth to respond, but I didn't want to hear him suck up to Snyder.

 _No matter how terrifyin' 'e is,_ _ **no one**_ _insults da newsies like dat._

"Now you listen hear!" I exclaimed, surprising myself with the commanding tone of my voice. "Don't you talk about us like dat!" I pushed myself up, every inch of me screaming in agony. 'We ain't got no radical ideas, and we sure ain't no disease! We'se standin' up for what's right, sayin' we won't be treated like _dirt_ no more, an' I won't hear ya talkin' about us like-"

Morris grabbed me by the collar and jerked me off the bed, lifting me until I was dangling a foot off the ground. My leg and bruised ribs protested furiously. I think they must've been going on strike.

"What was that crip?" Morris growled. "I couldn't hear ya, but I thought maybe you was talkin' sass to Mr. Snyder here."

The rational side of my brain screamed _NO!_ but for once I found the courage to do something bold (Jack tells me I have courage all the time, but I still don't believe it). Something that Jack would have done.

"I was." I spat - literally spat- in Morris' face, at the same time bring my foot up and kicking him in a not-so-comfortable spot. Morris howled, let go of my collar, and we both went sprawling. There was a moment of stillness and then the room went haywire. The boys began to yell at me: "What're ya doin'!?", "Are you insane!?", "Crutchie, no!" Snyder took a step forward, barking something unintelligible. Oscar was shouting, holding Sean, Scruff and Connor back and yet looking at me like he wanted to give me a good soaking…. But Morris beat everyone to me. He practically vaulted off the floor, lunging at me with a savage gleam in his eyes. I screamed as he fell on me, crushing me underneath his bulk. He landed a blow to my ear, and I pushed against him with all my might. However, he weighed - easily - two or three times my own weight, and he wasn't budging.

Morris' long, thick fingers went for my throat, but with a combined effort the other boys (Oscar included, to my surprised), forced him back. Morris got to his feet and threw them off, though Oscar still had a firm hold on his arm.

" _GET OFF ME, I AIN'T GONNA KILL 'IM OR NOTHIN'!"_

Oscar let go, and Morris picked me from the floor like I was a sack of potatoes. Which is sort of how I felt, being thrown around so much. The world, apparently, couldn't sit still for more than a few minutes. The past few hours I'd been dragged all over the place, and the constant movement was making me dizzy. If they didn't stop, I'd pass out again.

 _Let me go, let me GO!_ The words were not as easily spoken as thought.

Morris hauled me across the room, threw open the window and shoved me forward until my whole torso was leaning out into the humid evening air. I waved my arms frantically, trying to find the words to protest - _Say something, Crutchie, anying! He's gonna drop you! -_ but Morris only held me out farther.

"You see dat, kid?" He snarled, pointing at the ground two stories below. "Dat's your only escape, got it? You jump, boy-" He pushed me again, and I yelped as I dangled out the window. "You jump, or you're screwed." I gaped at the withered bushes below. I could imagine myself jumping out the window - or being thrown for that matter - and landing in those bushes. I could nearly hear the sickening crunch.

 _I'd break_ _ **both**_ _my legs for sure. I'd never walk again…_

To be fair, I wasn't even sure I'd walk again even without falling out of the window. That's how much my bad leg hurt. Even my good leg was in pain.

"You got it, kid!?" Morris shook me ferociously and I nodded.

'Yes!" I squeaked, trying to grab the window sill. "I got it, I understand!"

The next thing I knew I was face-down on the grimy floor, gasping for air. My heart was pounding. It was a wonder no one else heard it too. With every heavy exhale, a cloud of dust and dirt sifted into the air. I coughed as I inhaled the horrific filth.

"That's quite enough for you today, Morris." I heard snyder croon. "Why don't you escort Sean and the others downstairs. I'd like them to clean the bathrooms." Someone, I think it was Buzz, sighed heavily. "Oscar and I will handle matters from here."

There was a muttered reply and a shuffling of feet, and then the door closed.

"Oscar, pull up a chair for _Crutchie_ -" My name was said with such sarcasm that I was sure Snyder knew my real name. "-please. I'm _sure_ he'd appreciate it."

The grating, scraping sound of wood-on-wood assaulted my ears. Oscar hefted me up and, quite literally, dropped me into a hard, uncomfortable chair. My vision was blurry with pain. A trickle of warm blood ran down the side of my head, from where Morris had pounded me. I knew for certain there were other places crusted with the blood from my earlier beating.

Snyder sat across from me in a similar chair to my own. His jacket and slacks were still - somehow - spotless. He'd hung his bowler hat on a post of the nearest bunk.

 _Now what's 'e plannin'?_

"Crutchie." He began in a babying voice. Maybe he thought I was completely uneducated - or he thought I was younger than I was, which was a common mistake - because he drew out every word, like he was talking to a toddler. "All I'm going to do is ask you a few questions. You can make this easy, or-" A faint smile touched his sallow face, "-you can make this hard. It's up to you. Oscar will only be needed if you decide to make this hard."

Snyder looked intently at me, as if to say 'Do you understand?' I nodded, biting my lip. I was worried about what was to come.

 _What sort of questions is he going to ask?_

"Alright, let's begin then." Snyder drew himself up so he was seated all posh-like on his chair, and Oscar began to roll up the sleeves of his checkered shirt. "What exactly _is_ the newsies' plan? What do they think they're going to gain?"

I had to focus all my concentration on Snyder's words to come up with a response through the pulsating haze of pain that seemed to hang above my head like a cloud.

"We jus' wanna make da world see dat we's gotta have our rights too." My words were slurred, even to my own ears. "We stopped da scabbers 'n da wagons. I ain't sure what Davey 'n Jack had planned next."

I thought I was speaking truthfully enough, but apparently Snyder didn't.

"You are Jack Kelly's best friend, are you not? Or, at least, you thought you were. I wouldn't be so sure anymore if I was you. Not after he left you in the streets." Snyder cleared his throat for effect. His words were laced with scorn and maybe a little bit of twisted humor. He could see the agony written on my face and I knew it. I knew I wasn't hiding it any more. I knew he could also see the doubts running through my foggy brain.

 _No, Jack's my friend… Right?_

"Nevertheless," Snyder continued. "You must know something about a plan."

"I told ya, we ain't got no plan."

 _But do we? Did dey make a plan, and not tell me? Was Jack keepin' it from me?_

 _Shut up Crutchie, ya know Jack would tell you. Don't you dare doubt 'im. He's done so much for you, the least ya can do is stay loyal._

"Fine then." Snyder huffed. He must have known I was telling the truth, because he didn't so much as look at Oscar. "What about the other boroughs? Are there any other newsies involved in this strike? I've heard a rumor that you went to Queens and Brooklyn and such, asking for help."

 _It's time Crutchie, you gotta lie now. You can't tell them anything. You have to protect the newsies._

"No, there aren't any other newsies involved." _Isn't that the truth? They're not helping us… yet…_

"And you didn't go to them? There's not a chance they might come to your aid now that we've beaten you in round one?"

I shook my head, and my brains practically swirled inside my skull. "No. We didn't go anywhere. We didn't ask for any help."

Snyder studied me, and I felt naked; exposed. "He's lying. Oscar." He nodded at his towering cronie, who took a step forward, cracked his knuckles and landed a solid blow to my already bruised eye. I sucked in a breath.

 _Keep a straight face… No emotion… It didn't hurt, it didn't hurt. Make them think it didn't hurt._

My thought process was cut off when Snyder laughed a horrible, barking laugh. "Look at the poor boy, Oscar, trying to be all brave. Trying to put on a poker face. It doesn't seem to be working out so well for him does it?" Oscar cackled, showing his yellow teeth. Snyder shook his head. "This isn't that hard, boy. Perhaps you could… tell us a bit about this Davey boy you mentioned?"

"I 'ardly know him." The lie came easier this time, but it didn't feel right. I hated lying. This time, however, it was necessary. Necessary for the good of my friends. _Please forgive me, God._

"Oh, Crutchie, don't play that card. We know you know him. We've seen you tailing him and Jack around like a lost puppy. Where does he live?"

This time I vouched not to even open my mouth. Oscar stomped on my foot, and tears sprang to my eyes, but I stayed silent. Snyder's dark eyes bored into me.

"Tell us, Crutchie. Where does he live?"

I shrugged, trying (and failing, I'm sure) to appear casual. This earned me a kick to the shins.

"He has a brother, does he not?" Snyder probed. "A certain Les Jacobs? He's only ten… It'd be a shame if he happened to get picked up off the streets, wouldn't it?"

"Don't you dare!" I leaned forward, but Oscar pushed me back. A sudden rage came over me. "Don't you _dare_ touch 'im!"

"Or perhaps Davey himself? I'm sure he'd like it here."

"Don't touch 'em! Any of 'em!" I raged. Oscar sucker punched me in the stomach, and a loud 'oof' escaped my lips. I bent over until my nose was nearly touching my knee.

"So you do know him, then. Both of them." Snyder cooed. "Well enough to care."

"Leave 'em alone," I croaked out. "Please."

"Then tell us where they live." Snyder demanded. "So we can, perhaps… _deter_ them from their cause. And see if they're hiding Jack Kelly Or, better yet… tell us where we can find Jack Kelly. Them we won't have to go looking in a place he might not be. We've searched the newsboy's lodging house already, but he wasn't there. Where does he hide out, Crutchie? I'm sure you know."

My breathing stopped. I tried to keep a straight face. I'm pretty sure I failed. Again.

"I-I don't know."

I never was a good liar.

"I think you're lying, _Mister_ Crutchie." Snyder accused. "Just tell me, and we can be other with this whole thing."

 _Well… Maybe… I just wanna be done… I wanna be left alone…_

 _Crutchie Morris, don't you dare._

"I don't know, sir. I really don't." My voice shook, along with my body.

Snyder sighed.

"Have it your way. Oscar."

Oscar slugged me hard across the cheek, and this time I fell out of the chair. Once more I hit the ground, and in inhaled the dirt, dust and mold.

"I know you're Jack's best friend, Crutchie, at least until today. I know you've been to his little hideouts, wherever they might be. _Tell me_ where he is, boy. He wasn't faithful to you, so why should you be faithful to him?"

"'e 'ad a reason," I gasped, starting to shake even more violently. I wasn't concerned, or scared, or nervous. I was absolutely terrified. And I wanted to stop being interrogated; I wanted to stop being hit. I couldn't stand this much torment. "'e 'ad a reason, I'm s-sure of it."

A kick to my battered ribs elicited a wavering cry.

"Tell me." Snyder hissed in his menacing, gravelly voice.

"No." I was being defiant, but I didn't sound brave at all.

Kick. Kick. Stomp. Once again a boot had found my hand. I screamed, and the scream turned into a sob.

"Tell me, and this will all be over."

 _Do it for Jack, Crutchie. The strike'll fail without 'im. 'es your best friend. You gotta protect 'im._

"I won't tell ya!"

Oscar picked me up and shoved me against the wall. Both his and Snyder's faces were contorted with fury.

" _ **TELL ME!**_ " Snyder roared.

" _ **NEVER!**_ " The bellowed response tore from my throat. I closed my eyes, preparing myself for what was to come. Snyder stood over me, and I could actually hear him fuming. But nothing came, save the warden's harsh words.

"I _will_ get you to obey me, _boy_." He seethed. I cracked open my eyes to find his own lit with a raging fire. "I will make you obey me, and I promise you that eventually I. Will. _Break_ you." With that threat hanging in the air, he left the room, and Oscar stalked after him like an elephant following its mother.

And me? I was left alone in the sordid room, face wet with the flood of tears I could no longer dam up, with nothing but my agony and rampaging thoughts to keep me company.

* * *

 **Thank you for reading! Constructive criticism is welcome, but please don't be rude! Please review to let me know what you think, or of anything I can do better!**

 **God bless,**

 **Elizabeth Shoal**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello all! Finally another chapter up! Yayyyy! This is probably my first multi-chapter fic that I've actually stuck with. I guess it's just because I enjoy Newsies so much! Anyways, thanks to all the people who are supporting me in my writing like my aunt, my bffs Alyssa and Maria, as well as Abigail Connor on Pinterest. Another thank you to my family, who love me no matter what. And the biggest thank you to the Lord God above for giving me the gift of being able to read and write and the ability to learn and improve in those subjects and in others.**

 **The next chapter should be coming out fairly soon because it kind of is just a variation of this chapter, but with Crutchie's POV. Yes, you betchya, I'm doing a Santa Fe duet! I'M SO EXCITED!**

 **DISCLAIMER: I do not own Newsies or Disney or Broadway.**

 **And now for some answers to those who have commented and followed this story! I've seen others do this and I think it's pretty cool so… here goes!**

 _ **Guest -**_ **Thanks I'm glad you enjoyed it!**

 _ **Guest-**_ **It's a relief to hear that people like my writing style! I hope you are enjoying these new chapters!**

 _ **Guest-**_ **Ahhh people DO like my writing style! Thank you so much! And you're welcome for the sharing part. It's a good way for me to practice my writing and enhance my writing skills.**

 _ **Newsiesgirl3434-**_ **My normal self: I'M SORRY DON'T CRY! My writing self: YES MISSION ACCOMPLISHED. I SUCCESSFULLY MADE MY READERS FEEL WHAT THE CHARACTERS ARE FEELING AND RELATE TO THE CHARACTERS. THIS IS GOOD. THIS MEANS I AM IMPROVING.**

 _ **nerdygirl01-**_ **Thank you! Enjoy the new chapters!**

 _ **Thepopcornpup-**_ **Awww thanks so much! I'm glad I lived up to your newsies fanfic expectations!**

 _ **Ostrick on a Rampage-**_ **Aww thank you! I'm glad you like it! By the way, I like your name :)**

 **Thank you to those who have favourited this story: nerdygirl01, merez520, Thepopcornpup, Theatresailing25, HarryPotterLover, Dont'ForgetToBeAwesome**

 **Thank you to the following followers (hehe): nerdygirl01, merez520, Thepopcornpup, ThePerfectFan95, Madhatter-in-training, Ines Bonnefoy, HarryPotterLover, Dunadan Ranger, Don'tForgetToBeAwesome**

 **Please note that I am aware that in this chapter Jack's accent isn't always consistent. I worked really hard in this chapter to actually write Jack's words in an accent. But I feel that Jack's accent isn't as heavy as some of the other boys'. Also, I feel that his accent gets stronger the more upset he is. Plus, accents often are conditional. In some sentences, depending on the surrounding words, 'He' will be pronounced ''e' and other times it won't. Also it depends on if it's at the beginning of a sentence or not… and so on and so forth. I hope I portrayed Jack's accent correctly! P.S. My Jack is mostly based on Jeremy Jordan's portrayal of Jack.**

 **And now, without further ado, ENJOY!**

 **And a blessed Good Friday and upcoming Easter to you! (In advance: Alleluia, the Lord is risen!)**

* * *

 **JACK'S POV**

As soon as I cleared the top rung and stumbled onto the rooftop - _my_ rooftop - I exploded. I let out a pent up shout of frustration and kicked the railing. Needless to say I very quickly regretted that course of action. I bounced about in a hopeless circle, holding my foot and screaming again. The sun was dipping down behind the solid, grey buildings. Those buildings seemed to surround me, cage me in like I was an animal at the zoo.

On the gritty surface of the rooftop lay two old mattresses. Unoccupied and forgotten, the sight of the second one renewed my anger once more. I stomped across the concrete, hefted the mattress, and overturned it along with it's pillow and blanket. It nearly flipped straight off the rooftop.

 _It's empty because he ain't here!_

I made to overturn the other mattress as well and tripped over the now-dirty pillow from the second mattress. I grabbed the offending item and actually _did_ throw it off the roof.

"ARGH!"

Falling to my knees, I began to pummel my own mattress, hitting it's feather-filled plush as hard as I could.

 _He's gone, Jack, an' it's your fault!_

Punch, punch, punch, punch.

 _It's you're fault there won't be no one to sleep on that mattress tonight._

"ARGHHH!"

 _Crutchie is in the Refuge! The REFUGE!_

I stood, arms aching, and looked desperately for something else to hit. There wasn't anything to hit, but I _did_ see my drawings and drawing supplies wedged in a crack between the railing and the concrete of the roof.

 _The poor kid's only fifteen, and now he's stuck in the Refuge all by hisself._

I ripped my leather bag of pencils from it's hiding spot.

 _He'll be treated like dirt, just like you was. 'Cept he'll be treated worse cause he's a crip._

I held the bag upside down, so all its contents spilled out with a faint clatter.

 _You let 'em take him Jack. You just sat by 'n watched as they beat him._

My mind took me back to Snyder, standing over Crutchie - little, optimistic, loyal, too-brave-for-his-own-good Crutchie - hitting him over and over and over and over and over…

 _With his own crutch! What kinda no good, rotten-_

I interrupted my own thought with another, much more disturbing one.

 _What if he's dead?_

The thought was so hard to comprehend that I had to sit down.

 _What if they soaked him so hard he… he…_

I had seen, on a very rare occasion, Snyder take charge of the physical punishment at the Refuge. And yet I'd never seen him put so much strength into his blows. The thought of Crutchie dying made it hard to breathe. I found myself gasping, trying to suck a bit of the humid, rancid New York air into my lungs.

 _He can't be. There's no way._

I wouldn't believe it.

 _If he did though… If he did it'd be your fault._

"I DON'T BELIEVE IT!" I screamed, jumping to my feet once more. "I won't… I _can't_. Crutchie wouldn't give up dat fast."

He wouldn't. It wasn't like Crutchie.

 _He was awake when they drug him off…_

That was only mildly reassuring however. What was I supposed to do now? I'd successfully gotten nearly every newsie in Manhattan and then some beat up - my own swollen eye throbbed something awful - and gotten Crutchie taken to the Refuge.

 _What kinda leader am I?_

I'd been blaming myself ever since I'd taken one step away from the brawl, but now the full weight of what I'd done crashed down on me. My shoulders sagged and I leaned heavily against the rusted railing. I voiced exactly what I'd been thinking.

"What kinda leader am I?"

Everything that had happened - everything that had gone wrong - was my fault. Every bump and bruise received by every newsie hung over my head. More despicable than this was that I'd left them

 _Left 'em._

And even more despicable was how I'd watched Crutchie get soaked.

 _I let them beat him. I didn't do_ _ **nothin'**_ _!_

They'd been soaking him half to death and I'd just watched. More despicable than all of these actions was the fact that I'd allowed Oscar to take Crutchie away.

 _He's stuck in the Refuge, Jack… With all them boys… and the rats._

If nothing else I should have saved him from that fate. No one deserved the Refuge. Especially not Crutchie. Crutchie, who couldn't even bring himself to steal a single apple. Who'd followed me blindly into the tussle, simply because I told him it was a good idea. Who depended on me. I had let him down, and now he'd be living in filthy conditions, squished into a bed with two other boys and sniffed at by rats. He'd be barely fed and almost definitely beaten for his stubborn attitude and inability to complete the tasks (often hard labour) that the boys at the Refuge were often made to do.

 _All because of me._

I raised my bowed head and looked out at the city. In the hazy, polluted skyline the sun was nearly gone. Lights began to flicker on across the city. At this time, most people would be eating dinner. Vendors would be making last-minute sales, and restaurants would be crowded with couples and families. Some people would still be bustling home from work. I glimpsed a few such people on the road below me.

The newsies were all dispersed throughout the city. No one would dare to return to the lodging house, not so soon after the brawl. I was risking it to even be on the roof. Not that I cared. I briefly wondered if Katherine Plumber was tucked away wherever she lived, typing up a story about the strike.

 _I bet she don't even know what happened to Crutchie. He should be in the papes. He and the other boys. They should be on the front page._

I knew they _would_ be in the papers soon enough… But I also knew that, most likely, it wouldn't be for any of their talents or achievements. The article wouldn't be proclaiming victory… It would, almost definitely, be proclaiming defeat.

 _Maybe they shouldn't be in da papes at all. If they're in the papes cuz they lost, they'll be angry. If they're in the papes an' it says somethin' supporting them, they'll wanna keep the strike up._

At this point that was the last thing I wanted. I didn't want the strike to continue. I wanted it to _stop_.

"Folks we finally got our headline," I sung, though no one could hear me. I nearly laughed at the sickening irony of it all. "'Newsies _Crushed_ as Bulls Attack.'"

I pictured the boys, getting railed on by the strike breakers. I pictured their bruised faces, eyes wide as they ran for their lives. And then my thoughts drifted back to Crutchie.

 _Did he even run? He's so darn stubborn… He had to have run. Probably didn't want to though._

I pictured Crutchie's desperate face. I pictured his outstretched arm as he went, bumping, over the cobblestones.

"Crutchie's callin' me," I choked, trying to hold back the sudden sting of tears. "Dumb crip's just too dang slow."

 _You coulda saved him Jack. You coulda save 'em all if you'd never brought up the idea of a strike in the first place._

"Guys are fightin', bleedin', fallin', thanks ta good ol' _Cap'n Jack_!" I spat the words, taunting myself with them. This whole mess was all thanks to me. There was nothing more I wanted to do than to go back and erase it all, but I couldn't. It was all over. And now I didn't know what to do. I didn't know how to fix the problem.

Out of the blue I was seized by that overwhelming urge I'd felt so many times before. That urge to run away, one last time, and never look back.

"Cap'n Jack jus' wants ta close 'is eyes an' _**GO**_!" These words were vehemently thrown towards the sky; the sky of that cruel city that had caught me in its clutches. Nothing seemed fair. Nothing worked out. I'd successfully led a whole group of boys into a strike which had failed miserably, and had proceeded to successfully get my best friend stuck in the most horrible place on the living earth.

And now I just wanted to get out and pretend none of it had ever happened; to forget about the life I'd lived here in Manhattan and start a new one…

 _Be free._

"Let me go…" I sang, "Far away… Somewhere they won't evah find me."

 _Not Snyder or Pulitzer or Katherine or Davey or_ _ **anyone**_ _._

"And tomorrow won't remind me of taday."

It would be hard but maybe, just maybe, I could learn to forget all that had happened in New York. It would be hard, and it might hurt, but what if I could?

 _Would it be worth it?_

"When da city's finally sleepin'-"

 _This darn city._

"An da moon looks old 'n grey, I get on a train dat's bound for Santa Fe."

I'd dreamed about that place for years. It was the only dream that seemed to keep me going. Yet I was so far from that dream. So close… yet so far. And it made me angry. It made me angry that I couldn't even scrounge up enough money to buy one lousy train ticket. It was just more proof of how the newsies were treated like scum.

"And I'm GONE!"

 _Don't I wish it._

"An' I'm _done!_ "

 _I can see it!_

"No more runnin', no more lyin'."

But I wouldn't ever have to lie about stealing - I wouldn't even have to _steal_ \- if Pulitzer and all the rest of New York would just give us our rights.

"No more fat ol' men denyin' me my pay!"

The dream was so real, it was almost tangible.

 _The green grass and the hills and the desert and-_

"Jus' the moon so big and yellah, it turns night right inta day! Dreams come true…"

 _Do they?_

"Yeah dey do… In Santa Fe."

Someplace where I could be happy. And maybe even have…

 _A family._

Yet another thing New York had taken from me. My family.

"Where does it say 'You gotta live an' die 'ere'?"

My mother had died in childbirth along with my baby sister, who I never even got to meet. She was stillborn. And my father was driven half mad by the pressure of work. Without Ma, he just couldn't do it. He stopped working. He stole, lied, cheated. And he got thrown into jail for it.

"Where does it say 'A guy can't catch a break'?"

My father hadn't been thinking about me. He was so caught up in his own problems after Ma died, he hardly remembered I was there. He drifted away and, when he was locked up six months after Ma's death, I was thrown into the streets.

 _Guess that's my share in life._

"Why should you only take what you're giv'n?"

Could I even call it a share though? I was stuck on the streets, selling papers for a penny just to earn myself enough to eat. I'd been on the streets for ten years now and still I'd gotten nowhere.

 _ **NOWHERE!**_

"Why shouldjya spend your whole life livin' trapped where there ain't no future!" I banged my palms on the railing and listened as my voice echoed across the rooftops. I didn't give a darn if anyone heard me. I just didn't care. "Even at seventeen."

All I cared about at that exact moment was how the world had wronged me, and how it was still wronging me. How, after ten years, I was still slaving away and yet barely scrounging up enough money to survive.

"Breakin' your back for someone else's sake!"

 _Pulitzer. Pulitzer and his World and his stupid, stupid money. He's only made things worse._

"If the life don't seem ta suitchya, how boutta change of scene?"

I could just see it now, almost as if I was a spectator at one of Medda's performances. The city seemed to fold up, almost like a cardboard set being dragged offstage as the curtain began to rise… Revealing the place I'd always dreamed of: Far, far away from New York and Pulitzer and Snyder and the mistakes I'd made.

"Far from the lousy headlines an' the deadlines in between!"

As it always did, my brain began to laugh at me. The logical corner of my mind told me that I was daydreaming yet again, but I pushed the logicality away. I knew I was fantasizing but…

 _What if I really could make it?_

"SANTA FEEE! My old friend!"

And yet the logical part of my brain pushed right back.

 _You gotta give it up sometime, Jack._

"I can't spend my whole life dreamin', though I know that's all I seem inclined ta do…"

But I _needed_ to get away. I _needed_ that change of scene. Or at least that's how I felt. New York was squeezing the life out of me, just like it had my father.

"I ain't gettin' any younger, an' I wanna start bran' new! I need _space_! An' _FRESH AIR_!"

 _Don't I? Don't I need a new life?_

I shook my head.

 _Stop doubting yourself Jack. This is your dream. You gotta keep holding onto it!_

"Let 'em _laugh_ in my _face_ , I don't care!"

And in that moment, I really didn't care. I was letting myself be selfish, just for a little while. People could say whatever they wanted, but I _would_ get to Santa Fe. I _would_ get there.

"Save mah place..."

 _Someday._

"I'll be 'dere."

 _But not today._

There was Mr. Logical again. I knew I couldn't get to Santa Fe with less than a dollar in my pocket.

 _You can't just drop everything, Jack, an' you know it._

I had so many mistakes I needed to fix.

 _So many mistakes._

The burden seemed heavier by the minute.

There was Pulitzer.

The Strike.

Katherine.

The papes.

The boys.

The injuries.

The Refuge.

 _Crutchie._

It all weighed down on me, like a hundred boulders were strapped to my back.

"Jus' be real is all I'm askin'." I begged softly. I knew I couldn't make it now, but I would someday. And I just needed it to be real when I got there. "Not some paintin' in my head. Cuz I'm dead if I can't count on you taday."

I needed to have that dream. I needed it so I could hold onto something as I tried to right my wrongs. I knew I needed to right those wrongs, though. It wouldn't be easy, but I couldn't leave everyone hanging. Not now. I had a duty, and I had a dream. And the duty had to come first, no matter how much I wished otherwise.

I had to have a sound conscience if I was going to be happy.

"I got _nothin'_ if I ain't got…"

 _One day, though. One day._

" _ **Santa FE!"**_

* * *

 **R &R Perhaps?**


	5. Chapter 5

**Woohoo! Two chapters up in one day! I'm pretty happy, I dunno about you guys. Last chapter you got a bunch of angsty Santa Fe feels from Jack… This chapter you get some of that paired with** _ **Crutchie's**_ **angsty Santa Fe feels.**

 **That's right IT'S A (SORTA-KINDA) SANTA FE DUET! I saw one pin on Pinterest about a Santa Fe duet between Jack on the rooftop and Crutchie in the Refuge and I've been wanting to write it since then.**

 **So here it is! Enjoy guys!**

 **DISCLAIMER: I do not own Disney or Broadway or Newsies. The only parts of this fanfic that I own are my OCs Buzz, Scruff, Sean, and Connor. They aren't in this chapter, however.**

 **God bless!**

 **~Elizabeth Shoal**

 **And a blessed Good Friday and upcoming Easter to you! (In advance: Alleluia, the Lord is risen!)**

 **CRUTCHIE'S POV (JACK'S POV UNDERLINED)**

For a long, long while I lay there in the dust and the dirt. The tears stopped after a few minutes and my gaze became very unfocused, as did my thoughts. I was in a sort of twilight zone, caught between consciousness and unconsciousness. The only thing I knew was that everything hurt. I never knew that anyone could experience that much pain. It was agonizing… No, it was debilitating. Even though I desperately wanted to, I couldn't pass out. The darkness of unconsciousness was always there, at the edge of my vision, but I couldn't reach it. It danced just out of reach, making my head hurt even more.

After what I would guess to be an hour or so I heard the scuffle of tiny, little rodent feet and my brain snapped back to attention. With that attention came a sudden, overwhelming rush of despair.

Just as I had never felt so much pain before, I had also never even come close to feeling this lost or alone. It crashed down on me in a suffocating heaviness. I struggled for air and I found myself trembling from head to toe. I closed my eyes tightly and little pinpricks of white faded in and out before my eyes. I was panicking. I wanted to scream, but not a sound would come out. I wanted to run, but couldn't move a muscle.

I had never felt so terrified in my life.

Minutes ticked by and the only sound that filled the room was my labored breathing and the warning bells ringing in my ears. Slowly - ever so slowly - the panic began to melt away. The horrible fear was still there, but it wasn't crushing me anymore. I had, once more, regained a somewhat coherent state of thought. I gasped in a deep breath and opened my eyes. I could not, for the life of me, stop my hands from shaking.

 _Wh-What's happening to me?_ I thought, alarmed by what had just happened. I shook my head slowly, hoping it would clear. With a deep breath I hoisted myself up onto my elbow… And then fell right back down. Those hot spasms of pain had only become worse since earlier. I really needed to sit up, assess my injuries, and take care of them somehow, but there was no way I was moving on my own. So I settled for simply lying there on the hard floor, sweating in the summer's heat and losing myself in my thoughts.

 _So this is what the Refuge is like._

One thing was for certain, Jack's stories had been complete truth. Not that I had ever doubted that of course.

 _All those stories… they was true. This place… it's like all the light has been sucked out of it._

I hadn't even been in the Refuge a day, and I could already see that. I tried to force my thoughts away from my surroundings.

 _Wonder what Jack's doing right now. I hope he's okay… Probably blaming himself for the brawl._

* * *

 _ **What kinda leader am I?**_

 _I'd been blaming myself ever since I'd taken one step away from the brawl, but now the full weight of what I'd done crashed down on me. My shoulders sagged and I leaned heavily against the rusted railing. I voiced exactly what I'd been thinking._

 _"What kinda leader am I?"_

 _Everything that had happened - everything that had gone wrong - was my fault. Every bump and bruise received by every newsie hung over my head. More despicable than this was that I'd left them_

 _ **Left 'em**_ _ **.**_

* * *

The brawl had been going so well. And yet we'd failed. We had been overpowered and we had run.

 _There's still a chance we'll win. There has to be. We've gotta win! We've gotta show Pulitzer dat he's gotta give us our rights._

And yet my own thoughts mocked me.

 _What rights Crutchie? The only right we have is the right to starve._

I let out a grunt of frustration. Now my own mind was turning on me. It was never a good idea to leave me alone with my thoughts. Or, really, to leave me alone at all.

 _Alone… I_ _ **am**_ _alone, aren't I._

It wasn't really a question. I knew I was alone. And I hated to be alone. That feeling of despair started to heighten once more. I forced myself to take steady breaths.

 _No, I ain't alone. There's other boys here. And Jack'll come get me, once the strike's over. Once we win. They'll have a better chance without me anyways._

They wouldn't be hindered by me. They wouldn't be hindered by my limp, wouldn't have to worry about me getting hurt or left behind because I was slower than them.

 _But I_ _ **was**_ _left behind._

I hated that thought. I couldn't blame them! Everyone had just been looking out for themselves, as they had the right to.

 _Jack coulda stopped Snyder. Why didn't he?_

Instantly, I mentally kicked myself.

 _No, Crutchie! It ain't Jack's fault either! You know that if he had tried ta save ya he'd have gotten caught too and then the strike would never be won!_

* * *

 _I'd watched Crutchie get soaked._

 _ **I let them beat him. I didn't do nothin'!**_

 _They'd been soaking him half to death and I'd just watched. I'd allowed Oscar to take Crutchie away._

 _ **He's stuck in the Refuge, Jack… With all them boys… and the rats.**_

 _If nothing else I should have saved him from that fate. No one deserved the Refuge. Especially not Crutchie. Crutchie, who couldn't even bring himself to steal a single apple. Who'd followed me blindly into the tussle, simply because I told him it was a good idea. Who depended on me. I had let him down, and now he'd be living in filthy conditions, squished into a bed with two other boys and sniffed at by rats. He'd be barely fed and almost definitely beaten for his stubborn attitude and inability to complete the tasks (often hard labour) that the boys at the Refuge were often made to do._

* * *

It wasn't right to think bad about any of the boys, especially because the situation wasn't any newsie's fault. It was my own fault, for not being able to keep up with the others.

 _Maybe it's better this way. Them going on strike without me. I can't hold them back no more._

A small sigh escaped my lips and I adjusted my position, grimacing at the stabbing sensation in my bum leg and my ribs. Tears sprang to my eyes and I quickly allowed my eyelids to close, so as to keep the unwanted tears from spilling over.

 _I'll be fine. I gotta stop feeling bad for myself. The others, they'll win the strike. And after that, Jack'll have time ta come get me out. I'se just gotta be patient and wait. It's not as if this'll get any worse._

I sincerely hoped that it wouldn't. I wasn't able to think of how my position could be any more painful or terrifying than it already was.

 _Stop being a baby. Stop worryin' about yourself… Worry about the other boys._

Where were the other newsies? Were any of them here in the Refuge, like me?

 _Maybe someone else got caught and then I won't be so lonely…_

What in the world was wrong with me!? I was starting to become quite angry with myself and the thoughts I was having.

 _No! No, no, no! Nobody should be here. None of them boys should be here. And I certainly shouldn't wish they were here just because I feel lonely. That's selfish and rude and, I couldn't ever wish da Refuge on ANYONE!_

I groaned and slammed my fist down on the floor. My hand practically vibrated with the protest of my fingers. Surely some of them had been broken after being stomped on by Morris. Trying to distract myself from the pain and the thoughts that I considered to be quite petty and selfish, I focused my mind once more on what the others could be doing.

 _I sure hope they didn't get hurt too bad._

Was Specs okay?

And Race?

And Davey?

And Les?

And Boots, and Buttons and JoJo and Mush and Sniper and Mike and Ike and…

 _Jack?_

Was Jack okay? Had he gotten away safely after Snyder spotted him?

 _Oh, please don't let Jack be here. Please let him be safe_. I sent the quick prayer up to God above, hoping He was listening. The nuns always told me that He was always listening and that I could pray to Him anytime I pleased.

* * *

 _The newsies were all dispersed throughout the city. No one would dare to return to the lodging house, not so soon after the brawl. I was risking it to even be on the roof. Not that I cared. I briefly wondered if Katherine Plumber was tucked away wherever she lived, typing up a story about the strike._

* * *

Jack had to be alright. If he wasn't, how would the strike be won? He was our leader. No one else had the strength or the bravery to lead the Newsies.

* * *

 _If I was to be honest, I didn't want the strike to continue; I wanted it to stop._

" _Folks we finally got our headline," I sung, though no one could hear me. I nearly laughed at the sickening irony of it all. "'Newsies Crushed as Bulls Attack.'"_

 _I pictured the boys, getting railed on by the strike breakers. I pictured their bruised faces and then I pictured them running for their lives. And then my thoughts drifted back to Crutchie._

 _ **Did he even run? He's so darn stubborn… He had to have run. Probably didn't want to though.**_

 _I pictured Crutchie's desperate face. I pictured his outstretched arm as he went, bumping, over the cobblestones._

 _"Crutchie's callin' me," I choked, trying to hold back the sudden sting of tears. "Dumb crip's just too dang slow."_

 _ **You coulda saved him Jack. You coulda save 'em all if you'd never brought up the idea of a strike in the first place.**_

 _"Guys are fightin', bleedin', fallin', thanks ta good ol' Cap'n Jack!" I spat the words, taunting myself with them. This whole mess was all thanks to me. There was nothing more I wanted to do than to go back and erase it all, but I couldn't. It was all over. And now I didn't know what to do. I didn't know how to fix the problem._

 _Out of the blue I was seized by that overwhelming urge I'd felt so many times before. That urge to run away, one last time, and never look back._

 _"Cap'n Jack jus' wants ta close 'is eyes an'_ _ **GO**_ _!" These words were vehemently thrown towards the sky; the sky of that cruel city that had caught me in its clutches. Nothing seemed fair. Nothing worked out. I'd successfully led a whole group of boys into a strike which had failed miserably, and had proceeded to successfully get my best friend stuck in the most horrible place on the living earth._

 _And now I just wanted to get out and pretend none of it had ever happened; to forget about the life I'd lived here in Manhattan and start a new one…_

 _ **Be free.**_

 _"Let me go…" I sang, "Far away… Somewhere they won't evah find me."_

 _ **Not Snyder or Pulitzer or Katherine or Davey or anyone.**_

* * *

My thoughts drifted back to the last time I'd seen Jack. He'd been standing there at the end of the street, calling my name. I couldn't really make him out clearly, but I was pretty darn sure that he'd had an awful shiner. Snyder had seen him; he couldn't _not_ have.

Jack had looked… well, maybe just a little scared. I'd never really seen him look scared, but I couldn't think of a better way to describe his expression as he stood there.

But the thought of Jack standing there made me think of what happened before that.

Of the Delancey brothers.

Of Snyder.

Of the crutch, sailing down towards me.

Of the bump-bump of my head on the cobblestones.

I squeezed my eyes tighter and balled my shaking hands. Well, I attempted to that is.

"Let me go…" The beginnings of the song were barely more than a whisper. "Far away… Somewhere they won't evah find me."

 _Somewhere Snyder and the Delanceys won't be able ta hurt me no more. And me and Jack and all the other boys can be safe._

"And tomorrah won't remind of taday…"

I shuddered at the mental picture of Snyder's unsetting, sickening smile as he loomed over me…

 _No, no, no, stop thinking about it._

What if I could get out of New York though?

 _And go to Santa Fe? Like Jack said?_

The faintest of smiles brushed my lips at the thought of that wonderful place Jack had told me of. Perhaps we'd make it one day.

"When da city's finally sleeping," I whisperd. "And da moon looks old 'n gray. I get on a train dat's bound for Santa Fe!"

* * *

 _"And I'm GONE!"_

 _Don't I wish it._

 _"An' I'm done!"_

 _I can see it!_

 _"No more runnin', no more lyin'."_

* * *

"No more fat ol' men denyin' me my pay."

Pulitzer was the real reason I was stuck here. He was the real reason that every single newsie had been beaten to a pulp. Why'd he have to go and up the price?

 _But if he hadn't upped the price, we'd have gone on selling papes just like we always do, and then we'd never get our rights!_

At least, now, there was a _chance_ we'd get our rights. At least some people were aware of our situation.

* * *

 _I wouldn't even have to steal - if Pulitzer and all the rest of New York would just give us our rights._

 _"No more fat ol' men denyin' me my pay!"_

 _The dream was so real, it was almost tangible._

 _ **The green grass and the hills and the desert and-**_

 _"Jus' the moon so big and yellah, it turns night right inta day! Dreams come true…"_

 _ **Do they?**_

 _"Yeah dey do… In Santa Fe."_

* * *

"Dreams come true, yeah dey do… In Santa Fe."

Jack seemed so sure of it, so why couldn't it be true? What if Santa Fe really was a place where all my dreams - and Jack's too, of course - could come true? What if I went there and the fresh air really did do me some good; what if my leg healed?

 _What if I was able to walk normal again? What if I could_ _ **run**_ _?_

That dream seemed, at least, a fraction more plausible when I imagined it happening in Santa Fe. In New York… well, my leg would never heal in New York. Everything was too dirty and the conditions were too harsh.

"Where does it say you gotta live an' die 'ere? Where does it say a guy can't catch a break?"

 _A break… That sure does sound nice. No papes to sell, no Weasel yelling at me, no worrying about where I'm gonna get my next meal._

* * *

" _Why should you only take what you're giv'n?"_

 _Could I even call it a share though? I was stuck on the streets, selling papers for a penny just to earn myself enough to eat. I'd been on the streets for ten years now and still I'd gotten nowhere._

 _ **NOWHERE!**_

 _"Why shouldjya spend your whole life livin' trapped where there ain't no future!" I banged my palms on the railing and listened as my voice echoed across the rooftops. I didn't give a darn if anyone heard me. I just didn't care. "Even at seventeen."_

 _All I cared about at that exact moment was how the world had wronged me, and how it was still wronging me. How, after ten years, I was still slaving away and yet barely scrounging up enough money to survive._

 _"Breakin' your back for someone else's sake!"_

 _ **Pulitzer. Pulitzer and his World and his stupid, stupid money. He's only made things worse.**_

 _"If the life don't seem ta suitchya, how bouta change of scene?"_

 _I could just see it now, almost as if I was a spectator at one of Medda's performances. The city seemed to fold up, almost like a cardboard set being dragged offstage as the curtain began to rise… Revealing the place I'd always dreamed of: Far, far away from New York and Pulitzer and Snyder and the mistakes I'd made._

* * *

I made yet another feeble attempt to move… but to no avail. It only brought more unbidden tears to my eyes. I wiped at my face; it was warm to the touch. It was far too hot in the sordid room. Then again, it was always too hot in New York.

 _Forget taking a break. I'd rather be sellin' papes than stuck here._

I wondered what the boys would be doing tomorrow. Would they all be alright? Would they return to the Lodging House safely? Would they give up?

 _No, they'd never give up! They're gonna keep goin'! They ain't gonna sell a single pape until we win the strike… they promised._

For those scabs who did sell papers, however, perhaps there would be a decent headline.

 _A decent headline about how we had been crushed in the brawl, that is. I wonder what the headlines are like in Santa Fe._

"Far from da lousy 'eadlines, an' the deadlines in between!"

* * *

" _SANTA FE! My old friend!"_

 _The logical part of my brain pushed at my consciousness._

 _ **You gotta give it up sometime, Jack.**_

 _"I can't spend my whole life dreamin', though I know that's all I seem inclined ta do…"_

 _But I_ _ **needed**_ _to get away. I_ _ **needed**_ _that change of scene. Or at least that's how I felt. New York was squeezing the life out of me, just like it had my father._

* * *

What if I _did_ get a chance to go to Santa Fe? Would I take the chance? Would I go?

"I ain't gettin' any younger…" I sung softly, squeezing my eyes shut. My heart beat slowly, as if keeping time for the pain that pulsed through me. "And I wanna start brand new…"

Well, more or less brand new. Perhaps all the other boys could come with Jack and I and we'd start our own newspaper company in Santa Fe. At least we could go and get away from Pulitzer and Snyder. At least we wouldn't have to worry about the Delanceys, or the Bulls.

 _If I went, there's a chance I could be able ta walk normal again. To run._

The thought of my gimp leg being cured made me only more conscious of the pain I was in now.

"I need space, and fresh air!"

* * *

 _ **Don't I? Don't I need a new life?**_

 _ **Stop doubting yourself Jack. This is your dream. You gotta keep holding onto it!**_

 _"Let 'em_ _ **laugh**_ _in my_ _ **face**_ _, I don't care!"_

 _And in that moment, I really didn't care. I was letting myself be selfish, just for a little while. People could say whatever they wanted, but I_ _ **would**_ _get to Santa Fe. I_ _ **would**_ _get there._

 _"Save mah plaaaace..."_

 _ **Someday.**_

 _"I'll be 'dere."_

* * *

Jack had seemed so sure we would make it to Santa Fe. He'd seemed so sure my leg would get better. Who was to say that it wouldn't happen one day? All I had to do was wait…

 _Right?_

"Save mah place…"

 _Please, please, please save my place. And Jack's place. Save a place for all the boys._

My hands folded and my lips mouthed a silent prayer.

 _Please, God. Please let it happen. I don't know when, or how… But I'se willin' ta wait…_

"I'll be dere."

* * *

 _ **But not today.**_

 _There was Mr. Logical again. I knew I couldn't get to Santa Fe with less than a dollar in my pocket._

 _ **You can't just drop everything, Jack, an' you know it.**_

 _I had so many mistakes I needed to fix._

 _ **So many mistakes…**_

 _The burden seemed heavier by the minute._

 _There was Pulitzer._

 _The Strike._

 _Katherine._

 _The papes._

 _The boys._

 _The injuries._

 _The Refuge._

 _ **Crutchie.**_

 _It all weighed down on me, like a hundred boulders were strapped to my back._

 _"Jus' be real is all I'm askin'." I begged softly. I knew I couldn't make it now, but I would someday. And I just needed it to be real when I got there. "Not some paintin' in my head. Cuz' I'm dead if I can't count on you taday."_

 _I needed to have that dream. I needed it so I could hold onto something as I tried to right my wrongs. I knew I needed to right those wrongs, though. It wouldn't be easy, but I couldn't leave everyone hanging. Not now. I had a duty, and I had a dream. And the duty had to come first, no matter how much I wished otherwise._

 _I had to have a sound conscience if I was going to be happy._

 _"I got nothin'_ _if I ain't got…"_

 _ **One day, though. One day.**_

 _"Santa FE_ _ **!"**_

* * *

I was hoping more than I'd hoped for anything in a long, long time. I was hoping and praying that I could make it to Santa Fe one day… And maybe even have my leg heal in the fresh air.

 _I know I can make it one day. I'll make it! No, wait,_ _ **we'll**_ _make it._

If I couldn't go with Jack, I didn't want to go at all. After all, Jack was the one who had shared this dream with me. It had been his dream first, and it hardly seemed fair for me to go without him. Plus, wouldn't anyone rather go somewhere with their best friend?

 _Their brother?_

If we made it, we would make it together.

 _If I ever get outta here-_ I cut my thoughts off right then and there. _Jack'll come for me; once the strike's over._

"I got nothing if I ain't got…"

 _Jack's my brother… He'll always come for me._

 _He'll come for me._

 _He'll come._

"Jack." The words were whispered to the empty room, and I felt one cool tear trickle down my face. I'd never missed my brother so much in all my life.

* * *

 **Reviews are welcome!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hello my lovely readers! I know it's been forever and a day since I updated, but here's a chapter for you all. This one's Letter from the Refuge, and I hope I did that wonderful song justice. Thanks to Ostrich on a Rampage for continual support and encouragement for this fanfic! Plus. her amazing fics inspired me to try and write more. Hopefully the next chapter will be up soon-ish, but sadly I can't promise anything. I am crazy busy with piano and choir and school and family stuff. But thank you all for your continual support and patience!**

 **God bless!**

 **~Elizabeth Shoal**

 **DISCLAIMER: I do not own Newsies, but I wish I did! Hopefully I will own a copy of the filmed B-Way show when it comes out! SO EXCITED FOR THAT AGHHH THEY FILM ON THE 11TH!**

* * *

Some time later, well after the last of the summer light had faded, I heard footsteps coming from the hall. I blinked into focus just as the door swung open, creaking on rusty hinges, and a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling flickered to life.

It took a few moments for my burning eyes to adjust, and by then a motley group of boys was filing into the room. I recognized the freckled face of Seas as he made his way over to me, Scruff by his side. Briefly, I hoped he couldn't tell that I'd been crying. My eyes itched and my face felt puffy from all the tears shed.

"Jumpin' jellyfish!" Scruff said as he dropped to his knees beside me. "Did they rough you up even more, Crutchie?" He shook his head, eyes wide in disbelief, and gingerly poked my cheek where Oscar had punched me during the interrogation.

"Well, at least he's got a good shiner to show for it." Sean gave me a comforting smile. "Always better to have something to show of your battles, yeah?"

"Yeah, guess so." I answered, trying to return the smile. But it didn't feel convincing, even to me.

"Hey, at least it matches your other cheek." Sean winked conspiratorially before turning serious. "Scruff, help me get him up. Sorry, Crutchie, this may hurt." With that being said, he put one arm under my shoulders and one under my knees, hefting me up with the help of Scruff's steadying hand.

It was all I could do not to cry out.

"Sorry kid." Sean's tone was apologetic.

 _Kid, kid… Jack calls me kid._

"S'all right." I said, taking a deep breath.

 _You're all right, Crutch. Just keep telling yourself that._

"Move for a moment, would ya Tenpin?" Sean said. I couldn't see who he was talking to, but I was distracted from my curiosity from the pain of being placed on one of the button bunks. Someone with winter-blond hair stood over me, arms crossed.

"I ain't sharin' my bed wid no crip, Sean."

Sean scowled at the boy.

"I already made Scruff _and_ Blink move, Tenpin. Surely you can sleep two-to-a-bed with Crutchie here? He's small, and he don't bite."

The boy, Tenpin, shook his head. "Uh- _uh_. I'll have ta sleep against the wall jus' ta make sure I don't hurt 'im"

Sean's foot began to tap against the floor. "You generally get squished by Scruff anyway!"

"Not all the way 'gainst the wall! Look I ain't sharin' a bunk with no newbie, and 'specially not no crip. I'm not sayin' it again. Besides, newbies always sleep up top."

Sean pinched the bridge of his nose, closed his eyes, and gave a long-suffering sigh.

A new voice spoke from somewhere above me. "You're a stubborn mule, you know that Tenpin?" I assumed the one speaking was sitting on the top bunk. "I'll sleep down there with you then, if you're gonna be so stubborn. Just put him up here Sean. I'll move. And Buzz'll be nice, right Buzz?"

There was a vague reply from Buzz, and a small figure jumped down from the top bunk. Ice-blue eyes twinkled mischievously at me from under the brim of a grey cap.

"Thanks Winn." Sean said, clapping the boy's shoulder.

"Sure thing." Winn touched the brim of his cap in a mock salute. "I take it this is Crutchie?" The question was directed at me.

"Yeah, that's me." I answered.

"Pleasure ta meetchya! I'm Winn."

"Would you quit yapping and get him off my bed?" Tenpin said, features twisted in great annoyance.

Sean turned on him, pushing his face close to the blond's. "He's staying here until I bandage him up, understand?"

Tenpin shuffled back a few steps. "Y-Yes Sean."

"Good. One more word outta you and you'll sleep on the floor." Obviously Sean, as one of the oldest boys I'd seen so far, had a fairly high position in the hierarchy of the Refuge.

Tenpin opened his mouth, then seemed to decide against it.

Winn grinned, punching Tenpin lightly. "And _that_ is why you don't irritate a red head. _'Specially_ not an Irish one."

"Winn, just stop." Sean sounded tired.

"All right, all right. Sorry."

Sean nodded once, assured that the whole matter of bedding was settled, and then disappeared from my line of view. He returned with a dotted shirt and a pocket knife.

"So… what's that for?" I asked as he began to cut the shirt into strips.

"To bandage you up. I don't have any water to clean anything with, but covering the bad cuts should at least keep them from getting infected."

Sean continued to cut the shirt. A whispered conversation could be heard in the quiet.

"I'm hungry." Was someone's complaint.

"Yeah, well, we'se all hungry." Was someone else's retort.

"Why didn't we get dinner?"

"Why should I know? I guess Snyder the Spider was too busy with that lousy crip to feed us."

My face flushed. Had Snyder really neglected to feed everyone because of me? My stomach churned with a pang of guilt.

"Sit him up, guys." Sean said, breaking the silence. "I gotta get that top layer off him."

Scruff and Winn lifted me into a sitting position. I groaned and pushed Scruff's hand away.

"I'se okay, I can sit up myself."

"You sure?" Scruff certainly didn't sound too sure.

"Yeah. I got it." I hissed through gritted teeth. I unbuttoned my plain shirt halfway, but allowed the others to help me unbutton it the rest of the way and strip it from my sweaty form. My long-sleeved undershirt was stained with splotches of blood and clung to my frame.

'Alright, lay back down." Sean commanded and, happily, I obliged. He began to bandage my upper, left arm.

 _Let's see, dat one's from when the Delancey's pushed me over after the brawl._

"So Crutchie," Winn piped up, "Buzz says you were in a brawl." I responded with a meagre nod, wondering why Winn seemed on such friendly terms with the gruff blond. "You're part of the Strike I take it?" Nod. "I think you guys are doin' the right thing. Newsies need rights. I'd join ya if I wasn't here."

"You'se a newsie?"

"Sure thing! Buzz 'n I are from Brooklyn."

My nose wrinkled involuntarily. "Spot Conlon's territory."

 _If Spot had been at the brawl, we woulda won. But I guess we showed 'em that we got what-_

"OW!" I jerked my hand away from Sean's grasp.

"I'm sorry, but I gotta wrap those fingers!" Sean said matter-of-factly. "They're almost definitely broken, the three middle ones." _From Morris steppin' on 'em._ I let him straighten my fingers out to be wrapped, willing threatening tears to go away. "Keep talking, Crutch-"

"Don't call me Crutch." The force in my tone surprises even me.

 _Only Jack calls me Crutch. No one else gets ta call me Crutch._

Before I can apologize for snapping, Sean corrects himself. "Sorry, Crutchie. Keep talking, It'll distract ya."

Winn picked a topic, plunging right in. "So Crutchie, how old're ya?" It amazed me, the lengths Winn and Sean and Scruff were going to to help me out.

"Fifteen."

"Younger than some of the other newsies then. 'Lease the Manhattan ones. Aren't most of 'em sixteen or so?"

"I'm the second youngest. Well, third if you count Les. Les is near ten. He helps his brother sell, though. And Jack."

Winn's eyes widened. "Jack Kelly?"

"Yeah, Jack Kelly." A glimmer of pride resounds in my chest at the obvious recognition shown by many of the people crowded at the bedside.

A voice - I recognize it as Buzz's - drifts down from above. "You friends with Kelly?"

"Yeah… Yeah, I am." _He's more than just_ _ **any**_ _friend._ "He's my _best_ friend." _My brother._ I look away from Winn's bright gaze. Once more, part of me wished that Jack was there. He always knew how to make me feel better...

 _Don't think that way! You don't want Jack back in the Refuge._

And I didn't. Perhaps what I was really wishing was that _I_ was where _Jack_ was.

 _Anywhere is better than 'ere._

"He's probably worried aboutchya." Winn's voice seemed far away.

"Yeah." _Is he worried? Probably. He shouldn't worry, I'll be fine. He worries too much, 'bout everybody._ "I bet 'e is. He worries a lot. I wish there was someway I could talk to him. Or jus' get him word that I'se okay."

Sean glanced up from bandaging my bum leg. ( _Cut up by Snyder. By my crutch._ ) "I got some paper and a pencil. You could write a letter."

Tenpin sat heavily on the bed, jolting my leg painfully. "How's 'e gonna send it, Idiot?"

Sean shot the blond boy a disparaging look. "We'll figure that out later. We'll find a way." He tied off the bandage. "Well, that's that. You're good to go. Can't do nothin' for the bruises, or your ribs. _Or_ all the littler cuts." He blew out a puff of air. "Bit I'll try to get some water tomorrow, so I can clean everything.

"Thanks Sean." I smiled, this one much more genuine than the others. "You didn't have to do any of this."

"I only did what any person with a speck of humanity in them would do, Crutchie. Nothing more." He started to walk away, and I assumed it was to put away his knife and the extra scraps of fabric.

"DoyouthinkIcould'avethatpapernow?"

Sean turned back, "Now?" He tilted his head to the side. "Well, I guess so. We'se gotta get you up top first." Sean set the scraps on another bunk, raising his eyes to the heavens as he did. He mumbled something, but all I could hear was 'Tenpin'.

"It's okay, Sean. I can sleep up dere, I'll be fine."

Sean studied me for a moment before nodding reluctantly. "Alright, kid, up you o. At least let me help you up there." I hoisted myself into a sitting position, unable to contain a hiss, and Sean hefted me up once more. But even with his height, he couldn't get me onto the top bunk. A grumbling Buzz was recruited, him grabbing my arms and pulling while Sean pushed my legs up. I flopped on the bed. _Whoof_.

Sean's brown furrowed again. "You sure you're okay?"

Using the post to get upright, I nodded. "You'se done all ya can Sean. 'Member, I live on the streets. I'll survive."

 _Will I?_ The very thought sent a shiver down my spine. Jack had once told me that when he was in the Refuge, a boy had disappeared. One day he was there, the next he was gone. Even more odd was the fact that no one was punished for an escape. No one was accused of helping someone flee the Refuge. Jack always said the boy couldn't have escaped anyway, because he'd been beaten horribly the day before. _"No one would say so,"_ Jack had said, _"but I'm pretty- pretty sure that boy died. And we all knew it."_

"Crutchie. Crutchie? Hey, Crutchie!" I blinked. Sean's wide eyes were boring into mine. I felt dizzy all of a sudden from the weight of Jack's story.

"Hm? Oh, sorry Sean. I was… thinking."

"Yeah," Sean said, his voice soft, "you seem to do a lot of 'thinking.'" He cleared his throat. "Well, here's your paper and stuff." With a wink he handed me a small bundle. "You can write it _later_ and we'll find a way to send it tomorrow."

 _Don't write it now._ Sean's gaze said. _You'll be in loads of trouble if Snyder finds out_.

I thanked Sean and watched as he went to the bunk closes to the door. The sharp taste of guilt hung in my throat when he sat on the floor and leaned against the post. There were two boys squished together on the top of that bunk. Scruff, Connor and some other downy head were uncomfortably situated on the bottom. I remembered Sean telling Tenpin that he'd made some of the others move to make room for me. Now, clearly, there was no room for him in his own bunk.

 _All that for me? I ain't worth it._

Sean wasn't the only one on the floor, though. Evidently there weren't enough bunks in the room to begin with, because two or three other boys were curled up in the dirt and rat dung as well.

Footsteps in the hall grabbed my attention. Someone pounded on the door, _BANG, BANG, BANG_. "LIGHTS OUT!" Anyone who had been sleeping before was startled to perfect alertness. Except for Buzz, who only snored behind me.

Sean cursed, jumped to his feet, and pulled the string to the single lightbulb. The room plunged into darkness. A few boys complained as the footsteps retreated down the hall, but soon the room was silent again, save for a few coughs and snorts. Clutching my bundle for 'later', as Sean has said, I tried to find a comfortable position in the limited space left next to Buzz's sprawled form. My good leg hung out the side of the bunk, and my bum leg hung off the end. In any cases, no position on that narrow sliver of beg was going to make my body hurt any less.

 _Here's to hoping I don't fall off._

It took about 2.5 minutes for me to give up on any hope of sleep. Physically, I was exhausted. Mentally I was utterly drained. But worry and fear overpowered pain and fatigue. Besides, I had to wait up a little, until I could write a letter to Jack.

So I waited.

The minutes dragged by, interrupted only by the occasional snore and the pitter-patter of rodent feet. There was a squeak from within the wall, so close it made me jump. _Wonder how many rats are in this place_. For the next few minutes, all I could imagine was rats thronging over me while I slept, their feces clinging to my clothing and their teeth nibbling at my face.

 _Don't be stupid, Crutchie. You're on the top bunk. They can't get up here, right?_

I tried to decide what I should right to Jack, but nothing came to mind. I'd never written a letter before in my whole life.

The door creaked, and my breath hitched. Light streamed in, a long, threatening shadow projected onto the floor. But the shadow and the light were gone as quickly as they came, the door closing with hardly a sound. _Guess that's why Sean told me to wait 'til later._

Jack had told me once that there were guards at the Refuge, who kept watch in the halls to make sure no one escaped. "Some pay more attention than others," he'd said. "And some fall asleep in two minutes."

What kind of guard was out there tonight? Would he fall asleep soon? Would he stay up all night?

 _If 'e catches me, I'll get in trouble, no doubt about it._ I heard footsteps again, creaking footfalls that made me want to hold my breath. _No wonder it's so hard to escape. Guards, creaky floors. I wonder where dat fire escape is, the one Jack used to escape. Near a window I guess. Definitely not near any of da bedrooms. The only othuh way to get out would be the front door. Or a window. But it ain't as if anyone's gonna jump two or three stories. That's a death wish… OH! What if I tied a sheet to somethin'? Maybe the bed! Then I could toss the end out da window… I'd need more than one sheet. A few tied togethuh. An' I'd hafta be real quiet… Did the window creak when Morris opened it earlier? I guess it'd be hard to tell, seein' how hard he shoved it open. It made a bangin' noise, but did it cerak? I'll hafta be sure my sheet-rope thingy is sturdy. Where'll I get the sheets? They'se all bein' used now._

I wondered when "I'd" became "I'll."

 _I'll probably hafta wait._

Waiting was the last thing I wanted to do.

 _I wanna be outta here as soon as possible._

A few more minutes passed, as my mind tried to work out more details of my escape plan.

 _Been awhile since I heard any footsteps._

I sat up, clutching the bundle Sean had given to me. In the dim, watery light the moon cast on the room, I untied the bundle. There was a crumpled piece of paper, a dull pencil a half-used candle and a single match. Setting the candle on one post of the bunk, I struck the match against the wall, and it burst to life with a crackle. My hand rushed to light the candle, for fear of the match going out. Soon a warm yellow light shone.

 _A light in the darkness._

Paper raced against the post closest to me, I grabbed the pencil and took a deep breath.

 _…_

 _…_

 _…_

 _What in the world am I gonna say?_

I licked my dry lips and tapped my fingers on the paper.

 _Well, first things first._

"Dear Jack," I whispered as I wrote.

 _'Kay, now say where the letter's from._

"Greetings from the Refuge…" I trailed off, scrunching up my face in concentration, and the beginnings of a letter formed in my mind.

"How are you?" I'd seen letters before. This seemed to me a common courtesy. "I'm okay."

Okay wasn't a word I'd generally use to describe how I was feeling, but I didn't want Jack to worry.

 _Besides, I_ _ **am**_ _okay. I'm gonna be jus' fine. An' Jack's got enough to worry about, after the brawl._

The brawl. Anxiety crawled through my very being, threatening to choke me. I was still worried about Jack and the other boys. I hoped the "How are you" captured that worry.

 _Oh Jack, you gotta find some way to respond. You gotta tell me how everybody's doin'. They all got soaked somethin' awful… But they also soaked them strikebreakers pretty bad too. Unlike me. I couldn't even block a single punch from Oscar, let alone actually make a mark on anyone._

"Guess I wasn't much help yesterday." I almost wrote "earlier," but it was probably near midnight, and Jack would be receiving the letter the day after the brawl.

 _What now? Ugh, I ain't got a clue what I'm doing. Should I say something else 'bout the brawl?_ This time my thoughts drifted towards how I'd run with the crowd. I had felt like a coward, running from the ulls. Everyone else had been doing in, and we'd been outnumbered, but I still felt like a coward.

 _I ran. I ran like a baby._

How much good had that running even done me? If it could even be called running. I'd gotten caught by the Delanceys. My eye throbbed as if to prove a point.

 _I got caught and then… and then…_

 _Snyder, standing over me, swing the crutch at me with all his strength, that evil glint in his eyes -_ _ **NO.**_ I thrust the thought away, as far as I could shove it. I stared at the letter, and it hit me that I hadn't mentioned who was writing yet.

"Oh yeah, Jack?" I wrote, singing the words softly to myself. "This is Crutchie by the way."

My stomach rumbled. I became all too aware of how hungry I was. I hadn't eaten since… that morning? The night before, even? I tried to push my hunger away as well, and looked around the room, trying to think of what to write next. The windows, their tattered curtains limp from humidity, caught my attention.

 _Morris, holding me out over the terrifying drop…_

"These here guards, they is rude! They say 'Jump! Boy, you jump or you're screwed!" _Grrrr._ I glanced down at my stomach with a sigh. "But the food ain't so bad, least so far… 'cuz, so far, they ain't rung us no food." A grin touched my lips at my own joke. _Jack woulda liked that one. Sarcasm's Jack's strong suit._

Sometimes his sarcasm was funny. Other times he'd throw sarcastic comments back at everything I said until I was ready to throw _him_ of the rooftop.

"I miss the rooftop." I said, and it was true. Oh, so very, very true.

"Sleepin' right out in the open, if your pent'ouse in the sky!" I could almost see the city lights winking cheerfully at me, and the quiet hubbub of sounds echoing off the buildings. _And the breeze. What I wouldn't give for that breeze now_.

"There's a cool breeze blowin', even in July."

 _I was leaning out over the railing, a cool breeze ruffling my hair. In the distance, out on the ocean, the last orange light of the sun was fading. A glance over my shoulder revealed the moon, just beginning its ascent, and the stars, just twinkling on. I always liked to imagine that they were saying hello to me when they twinkled like that, and-_

A loud snore interrupted my day-dream.

I opened my eyes. Here I was, in the Refuge, in the heat, with the sweaty boys - no, not just boys, prisoners - and the dirty rats. I was met, once more, with the sight of the torn curtains and the hazy window.

"Anyway," I cleared my throat, which was dry as sand, "so, guess what? There's this secret escape plan I got!" The words seemed to come easier now. "Tie a sheet to the bed, toss the end out the window, climb down and take off like a shot!" I fidgeted in excitement, and my leg spasmed with the unexpected movement. Hot tongues of fire seemed to envelop the dead limb, staring down at my toes and spreading up and up. At my thigh it transitioned to an ache that continued to my chest, where it became a dull throbbing. In my head it was a head-splitting pounding. It was all I could do not to scream.

"Maybe though," I wheezed through a tight chest and gritted teeth, "not tonight."

 _Who'm I kiddin'. I'd never make it out the window with this bum leg!_ The pressure of the situation was too much. It was wearing away at me. Jack always told me that I was so optimistic, but I was finding it hard to be optimistic when my body felt ready to implode.

"I ain't slept, and my leg still ain't right."

 _When the Strike ends, Crutchie, when they defeat Pulitzer. Then you'll get out, somehow._

"Hey, but Pulitzer? He'd goin' _down_."

If there was one thing I was confident of, it was that Jack and the boys were gonna win that strike.

"And Jack?" My hand froze. How could I explain the billion and ten emotions welled up inside of me? No words could express my desire to be free from the Refuge and the gripping fear that came with being trapped there. I wanted to be far, far away from that horrific pace, that left children starving, scarred, and lost. In fact, I was almost ready to leave the city.

"I was thinkin' we might just go…" I remembered the conversation Jack and I had had about Santa Fe, just a few days ago. Jack had told me his dream about Santa Fe a million times before, but that had been the first time I'd been graced with such vivid details. "Like you was sayin'..."

For the first time, I'd been able to really _picture_ Santa Fe. As Jack had explained his dream, the mental picture had crept into view, becoming more and more… _real_. It had seemed to come alive before my very eyes. And all of a sudden, I'd kinda understood why Jack wanted to go there so bad, why it was such an amazing place.

"Where it's clean and green and pretty, with no buildin's in da way!"

 _It sure sounds different from good ol' NYC._

I tried to raise the picture back to my mind again and, to my surprise, it was almost as alive as the last time. I grinned, a real, genuine grin. If it was as wonderful as it sounded, I really wanted to go there, so long as Jack came too. A part of me hoped he was right, that the clean air would make my leg better.

"And you're ridin' palominos every day!"

 _I was perched atop a sandy-white horse. It's mane whipped in the wind as it galloped across a big, green field. There were clay houses in the distance. The sun shone down on me. I felt a joyous warmth, spreading from the inside out. I was racing a train, my fists in the air, crutch…_ _ **gone**_ _! Gone with the wind!_

"When that train makes!-"

" _ **SHHHHHHHHHH!**_ "

A whack to my gashed arm broke me from my reverie. Buzz rolled over, my arm began to ache, and tears threatened to flood the water gates once more. Obviously they didn't know when they weren't wanted. I shook my head, crumpling the paper slightly in one hand.

" _Darn_ _this place_."

A few hot tears escaped, rolling down, dripping from my nose onto the letter. A deep, shuddering breath helped me to clear my brain a little. I wiped my nose, and smoothed out the paper.

"I'll be fine," I wrote. _I'll be fine, I'll be fine, I'll be fine. I ain't a baby. I ain't gonna cry no more. I'll be fine._ "Good as new. But there's one thing I needjya ta do. On the rooftop you said that a family looks out for each othuh." My heart actually throbbed at the thought of my family.

 _If you can hear me, God, please, please, please don't let any of the boys end up here._

"So tell all the fellas, for me, to protect one anothuh!" The tears flowed more freely now. Never before had I missed the Lodging House and the rowdy newsies so bad.

"The end."

 _Is that how ya end a letter?_

"Your friend."

Somehow, as I read the words aloud, they didn't seem right. They felt… stale.

 _They ain't strong enough._

"Your _best_ friend." I wrote.

 _Yeah… yeah, that's good._

I re-read this statement, just to make sure and, again, it felt wrong. They were good, but they didn't quite fit the picture.

 _Family… He said we's a family. And we_ _ **are**_ _a family._

I scratched out the two previous endings and, ever so slowly, wrote out another one. Even as I wrote the letters, I knew this one was right. And I believed what it said, with all my heart.

"Your brother."

 _Deep breath._

"Crutchie."

* * *

 **Reviews are very welcome! Let me know what you think. Constructive criticism is a good thing! Is Crutchie in character? Am I portraying him correctly? Do you like the OCs? If you have anything specific you want to see in this fanfic, just let me know and I'll consider it! Thanks guys, God bless!**


End file.
